It’s the best week of the year—it’s freshly tuned piano week.
What fleeting joys! The clarity of the notes, each key aligned. I love that I have a piano tuner that will text and schedule an appointment, making even the administration of the event simple. Something about the piano makes the financial part of my brain shut down. Would I pay double, triple for the service? If the tuner asked, I would pay up, no questions asked.
It is however, also, a week of irony.
As much as I enjoyed my tuned piano is how much I hate playing the piano at the nursing home where I lead a monthly service. It is the worst piano. I have played on church pianos my entire life, so this is really saying something. But this piano is a nightmare. It’s a piano to deceive non piano players, seeming to be a glossy black baby grand. That seems nice, right? But it’s dreadful. The pedals are broken, the keys always sticky in every sense, and let’s not talk about the tuning schedule. Do not play an octave on this piano. Ever.
There are two lessons here. First, tune your pianos. Second, resources don’t always determine outcomes.
The first hopefully is self-explanatory. Please, please, I implore you tune your pianos. But the second? It’s because of all the work of my week, teaching, leading, preaching, I think perhaps the best I did was playing on that horrible nursing home piano.
Statistically, this is certainly true. There were more people at the nursing home listening to my piano playing than were sitting in my church sanctuary that morning. Yet it’s more than that. Do you know the sound of a congregation that suddenly finds its voice? I had that moment when I leaned into the old classic, Jesus Loves Me. That song knows no denomination. We self-select into different theologies and music styles as we age, but everyone seems to know the lyrics from their childhood. Yes, Jesus loves me. I had been playing along with little response (A Mighty Fortress, His Eye is on the Sparrow, There’s a Sweet, Sweet Spirit all eliciting absolutely nothing) until this out of tune piano unlocked something in those around me.
We became a congregation. I know, not just from the singing, but because of how folks wanted to talk to me, to shake my hand, to say thanks afterward. This is not a high-end nursing home. This is a spot for a hopefully quick rehab moment, to get care when you cannot stay in your home, to hope that the COVID that continues to cyclically spread up and down the halls won’t reach you. My fellow worshippers wanted to let me know for a moment it wasn’t monotony, it was memory and song and glory.
For me, this was a sermon of what it means to have enough. For this week, for the two pianos, for the highs and lows and the octaves in-between. It is enough.
What I’m listening to
Worth it for the little catchphrase alone: “How does it feel to be an expert in a dying field?”
Upcoming class
I’m teaching a class! It’s through my local Association (church regional body) and as far as I can tell, the more the merrier. I didn’t write the copy for the class but I love the enthusiasm. Join if you want my compact pitch for lay leaders and clergy about how to make part-time ministry a healthy, affirming, and joyful option. Note: the class is on April 19th from 6:30-8pm Eastern on Zoom.
What life looks like
Guest photo from my husband Josh <3
One more thing
I made a cute little instagram for this newsletter—you should follow for more pictures and less talking. You can also always share this newsletter or give a gift to a friend! I’m grateful for the ways in which you keep reading and keep sharing. Thank you.